Chapter Two
Hayes
Irip the throttle wide open, and my back tire fishtails as my bike rockets out of the garage. I don’t contemplate what I’m doing because none of the consequences are as bad as watching Olive get away.
I hit the main road heading down the mountain at lightning speed, but she got a head start. I only catch glimpses of her gunmetal bumper around each curve until the final stretch. She has to slow down to turn towards town.
Her brake lights merely flash before she accelerates across the two-lane highway.
I’m not letting her get away. I’ve waited too long for this.
I blow through the stop sign without looking, putting me on her bumper. Her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and the wind drowning my eardrums fades away.
Olive. My Olive.
The whites of her eyes expand, tearing away from mine as her car hits the rough shoulder, and she’s forced to over-correct to get control.
We’re going too fast.
My tires squeal on the pavement as I slam on my brakes, widening the gap as she swerves onto the patch of dirt and gravel next to the road.
I’m barely off my bike before she’s slamming her door and stomping towards me in her navy blazer and slim-fitted dress pants. If she’s having any issue in the gravel with her death-trap heels, she doesn’t show it.
“What do you want?” She yells, stopping me in my tracks.
What do I want?
“You look good, Liv.” She’s beautiful. She always was, but this far exceeds the girl she used to be. She’s grown up, and everything about her is enhanced.
Her shoulders are tall with confidence she didn’t have as a kid. Her curves are accentuated by trim arms and legs, and where her jacket buttons at the waist, cinching her hourglass figure.
Her face has matured and slimmed, where it used to be round with adolescence, highlighting her full lips and angular cheekbones. Her bright hazel eyes are the same, but sharp and pissed off.
“Fuck you, Jensen.” She turns on her heel and starts to walk away. Grief washes over me…
“Liv, wait!” I beg.
I don’t know why, but she stops, standing with her back to me. Her shoulders rise and fall with her flustered breaths.
“Let me-” I start, but she cuts me off by whipping back around to face me. If looks could kill…
“No! You don’t get my attention or my time now. You had your chance a decade ago.” Her sharp, manicured nail juts out, inches from my face. “I don’t know how you knew I was here, but stop leaving me fucking gifts.”
“What?”
“I don’t care if it’s a peace offering. I’m not interested.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only found out you were here five minutes ago.”
The fierceness of her face falters almost indiscernibly, but I watch as the warm skin of her cheeks pales.
She stumbles back a step, avoiding my eyes.
“Is something going on?”
The shake of her head is barely there as she scrambles back to her car.
“Liv!” I grab for her door as she slams it shut, but she locks it as I yank on the handle. “Is somebody bothering you, Olive?” I plead, but she ignores me.
The engine roars to life as she hits the gas and nearly runs over the toes of my boots, leaving me in a cloud of dust as she speeds away.
* * *
Four years ago…
“Is this your girlfriend?” The tattoo artist asks as the needle stabs my skin.
“No,” I respond bluntly.
“Sister?”
“No.”
He glances up at me briefly, blinking away when he connects with my deadpan glare. I hate questions. I don’t like explaining myself to strangers; that’s why I do most of my tattoos myself. This spot was too tricky, and I couldn’t risk messing it up.
He continues working in silence until the ink’s done, snapping his latex gloves off and pointing to the mirror on the wall. “Let me know what you think.”
The man in the reflection is someone I’ve spent years trying to understand. Each tattoo up and down my arms and across my chest represents what I’ve been through, and who I am.
At some point, it felt like putting a permanent reminder on my skin would help ease the torture in my head.
Right above my diaphragm in the hollow pit between my ribs is my greatest punishment.
OLIVE
* * *
I always wondered where she was and how she was doing. I would lie awake at night, thinking of all the ways I could find her and where I’d need to go to look. And what I would possibly say once I saw her again.
I always wondered if she moved across the country or out of the country altogether… She was destined for great things, and that meant the possibilities of where she went in life were endless.
Now, I know she’s a hotshot lawyer. Her success doesn’t surprise me, but her career choice does.
And, I find out she is right around the corner…
But she wants nothing to do with me.
Like I’m the nightmare of her past.
Because I am.
I stroll into the local bar in the town she drove off towards yesterday, and sit down at a stool, eyeing two old men and the bartender. It’s only about 5 o’clock, so these are the regulars.
If she’s working with Sheriff Malec and prosecuting the man who attacked Second Chance Sanctuary, I know she’s staying close by.
I want to know where.
I want to know everything.
“What can I get for you, sugar?”
I smile at the woman with teased hair from a different decade, and her demeanor doesn’t shift. She’s a veteran, my charm won’t phase her. “Shot of Jack, please.”
She sets the glass down in front of me and refills the next guy’s glass.
“Do you know of any good lawyers around here?” I ask casually, fiddling with the full glass in front of me.
“Why? Are you trouble?” The bartender asks sternly. Her name tag says ‘Daya’.
“No,” I chuckle, downing the amber liquid.
Not anymore.